Coping
by gallaghergirlatheart
Summary: Clary and Jace are both having to deal with a lot of bad stuff in their lives, which is one of the main reasons they meet - they share the same therapist. Watch Clary and Jace help each other to start living again, instead of barely coping with life. This story isn't all depressing and there will be lots of Clace - promise!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Coping. It's a word I've never really understood until recently. The Google definition of the verb 'to cope' is to deal effectively with something difficult. I beg to differ. In my short experience of coping, I do not feel like I am dealing 'effectively' with anything. The truth is, there are so many types of coping mechanisms out there: aggression, sex, drugs, and denial, self-blame. I wouldn't call any of those methods 'effective'. More like destructive. But when you're at breaking point, using anything, anything at all, to help ease the pain, to give you a reason to hang on in there, is better than nothing.

For me, I have used substance and alcohol abuse to deal with my pain. Of course, every morning when I wake up next to the toilet, experiencing an incredible hangover, I regret it. But the numbness creeps back in throughout the day, and it starts all over again. It's like as soon as I start to lose my feelings, I need something to wake me up out of the spell, and a couple of lines of coke with a few shots of tequila do the job.

This never-ending cycle of barely coping seems to be my life now, and I hate it, I hate all of it. Because with this cycle comes the loss of friends and family, the loss of respect from others and for yourself, and worst of all, is the loss of hope.

I guess that all of this 'unconventional behaviour' as my parents like to put it, is the reason I'm standing outside of a therapist's building with a banging headache and a Starbuck's at 9.00 on a Saturday morning.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

One thing worse than a having a killer hangover is sitting in a waiting room with a bunch of crazies for half an hour. Seriously, what's the point in having a 9.00am appointment if you're going to be late anyway. I could be in bed right now! Eventually, a door reading 'Dr Anderson' opens, a guy around my age walking out, followed by who I presume to be 'Dr Anderson'.

"See you next time Jonathan," the doctor says, patting the hot dude on the back. The man just nods in return, goes up to the desk and retrieves a load of papers to sign, like it was a routine he was bored of.

"Clarissa Fray," the doctor calls, and I stand up slowly in response. Looking expectantly in my direction, he says, "Come right through."

As I walk warily towards the man's office, my eyes meet those of 'Jonathan' and he smirks slightly and winks at me. I feel my cheeks warm at his flirty gesture, and I get excited, because I feel something tingle inside me for the first time in ages. But I don't hope. I don't allow myself to hope anymore, it just leads to disappointment.

Once the pleasantries are over and I'm seated on a comfortable leather couch opposite Dr Anderson, he gets straight down to business.

"So, Miss Fray, your mother tells me that you've been having some trouble in the past couple of months," he pauses for a response, but I stay silent. "Excessive drinking and usage of drugs. A night in jail for possession of illegal substances. Aggressive behaviour and attitude," this time when he pauses for a response I do say something.

"Please doctor, please carry on listing all of the screw-ups I've ever made. I just love hearing about what a disappointment I am to my perfect parents." Oh yeah, another coping mechanism I forgot to mention – sarcasm.

"Miss Fray," the doctor carries on. "I'm not here to lecture you, no matter what you might think. I'm simply trying to get to the bottom of why you might be displaying, what your mother described as 'uncharacteristic' behaviour. There must be a root cause for this."

Chuckling, I say, "Even if there is a cause, I definitely don't want to talk about it with some strange old man who thinks he can fix the unfixable. So what if I take a few drugs here and there, my parents don't really care. The only thing important to them is keeping up appearances, nobody wants to socialise with the woman who has an addict for a daughter."

"So this is about wanting to get your parent's attention then?" the man suggests.

Rolling my eyes, I say, "As if. I care about them about as much as they care about me, which is very little by the way. I don't do anything because of my parents, I'm not _that_ desperate."

He replies quickly with, "Well, you're here aren't you? You came here because of your parents, right?"

Feeling my anger boil to the surface, I hiss, "Well, I better fix that then," and storm out of the stuffy office. I don't need some man dissecting my life, or interfering with the reasons for why I do certain things. I rush out of the waiting room as fast as possible, with Dr Anderson calling my name out behind me.

Feeling the need to catch my breath and calm down, I take a seat on the grass underneath a nearby oak tree. I guess on the plus side to this shitty morning, I felt some emotion, even if it was extreme, and admittedly unnecessary anger.

"Wow, you've got a mean temper, Fireball," a slightly accented voice says behind me, making me jump.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Turning around, I narrow my eyes at the hot guy from earlier, 'Jonathan'.

"That's not my name," I deadpan, making that little smirk crawl back onto his face.

"I know," he assures me, with a teasing hint to his voice. "Your name is Clarissa, and we share the same therapist. I just figured, with all that pent up anger inside of you, Fireball suits you better."

"It's a little creepy that you know my name. What are you seeing Dr Anderson for, obsessive stalking?" Okay, I know I was being a little bitchy, but I can't help who I am, or how I react to an annoying know-it-all.

"First of all, we were both there in that waiting room earlier, and I know that you know my name is Jonathan. Add to that the fact that if I was an obsessive stalker, I would be locked up in a mental hospital, not going to see a regular therapist. Moreover, you're the one who decided to come and sit by my smoking tree..." he trailed off, leaving me to feel a little embarrassed.

Only now noticing the cigarette in his hands, I inform him, "You know Jonathan, smoking is really bad for you." Extremely hypocritical coming from me, I know, but he doesn't have to know that.

He replies, "So first you come to my smoking tree, then you judge me on smoking. What's next, you going to ask me to stub it out Princess?"

Scoffing, I say, "You can do whatever you want Jonathon, it's your life." As an afterthought, I add on, "And don't call me princess. In fact, don't call me anything, I'm out of here." Standing up, I ready myself to leave, overwhelmed with all of the emotions and feelings whizzing around my body at the moment. It's like this guy is my own personal drug, and it's scaring me.

"Aw, no! Where 'ya going, _chica_? Back to Dr Anderson? You know, you should really give him a chance. He knows what he's doing, which is more than I can say for all the other therapists I've talked to." So _that's_ what his accent was, Mexican.

"I'd rather not," I mumble.

"Why?" he argues back. "You scared?"

"No!" I exclaim immediately.

"Then go back in there. You only stayed for what, 20 minutes? You've been out here for 10. That means you have half an hour left to prove to me that you're not scared. Go! Give him a chance." I see what he's doing, and I don't want to fall for it, but the competitive side to me wins out.

"Fine," I growl back, frustrated that this complete stranger could make me feel so many things.

"I'll be waiting right here when you get out _preciosa_. Maybe I can take you for coffee?"

I roll my eyes and way back towards the building, calling over my shoulder, "Goodbye Jonathan."

"You can just call me Jace, _belleza_," he shouts back.


End file.
